[Hook]
"Put your hands high, ain't you heard of us
...I'm quite bad... but I shouldn't"
(Hyjak... Suffa... Torcha...)
[Verse 1: Pressure]
I like to make the vinyl bleed when I meditate to heavy breaks
Obsess over thought process until the letters make
There way to my palms, are sweaty, once I'm coming ready
I carve a deadly man*script and rip past the petty
This man'll make them big shots look bent on weight
I came ahead of my time while others premature ejaculate
An addict of breaks and cuts, obsessed
I'm f**ed unless I get a hit and spit til' theres nothing left
I spent my youth like bad credit, got nothing to show
If money was flow I'd be bawling all up in this bro
We got that rough sh**, something straight up sh**, with sick flows
Some beat around the bush like perverts looking in windows
While others rapping for the cash indoors, fasion awards
They lacking cords, we catching wreck with Jak n' Torch
You say your hard? I'mma laugh and raise my gla**
f** and ego your only as dope as the listeners say you are
[Hook]
[Verse 2: Suffa]
You can find me in the hills but you don't try me on this sh** kid
With rhymes that be filthy, and grimy like a dish pig
I rip gigs and spit if you think it's a joke
I'm like a mad digesting hash cookie (wha?)
My sh** is dope!
Let's go twelve rounds and see who'se flows tighter
The only way you'd win is if I was your ghost writer, f**
Who wrote your raps and who'se taking your crew places
Man you look retarded, who tied your f**ing shoe laces?
Suffa ain't no s**er, f**er
Cook up beats like Jamie Oliver, pucka
Structure, form man
f** the, norm man
Suffa, born and rough like p**n
And I spit lyrics like water mealon seeds
Slaughter red emcees
Cos I thought of enemies
Any reason, season, please man
Three sixty five, it's three sixty degrees
And you don't quit
[Hook]
[Verse 3: Hyjak]
I ain't scared of dying or being missed
But I'm afraid as f** of being deceased with a techno DJ making my remix
And having him beat mix at every rave and show he hear
Dig myself out of my grave and beat him with his own clothes stick
Don't give a sh** if you can spin backwards on canvas
I don't give a f** about these rap dancers
Damn I'm sorry boys I don't know how to say this
I think I ruined our chance of being on the Nova playlist (oh no!)
Play this if you love getting wasted destroying stuff
Mic snatching off Guy Sebastian using his head as a toilet brush
These boys bustin' out the rubbish like Oscar the Grouch
Wish the Crocodile Hunter stuck a sock in his mouth (Crikey!)
I might be slightly unbalanced
I'm wrestling lesbians because I like the challenge
Til' a crew of dykes surrounding me with knives and hammers
I nailed em' all together sold em' to IKEA as a cabinet. wha!
[Hook]
[Verse 4: Torcha]
I'm hopeless can't focus my intelligence, see
I play them pokies hoping for five elephants, we
Rather smoke this tree than try sellin' it, please
Just provoke this team and I'll settle it, geez
Don't worry 'bout me bro
Won't sell my soul that's degrading
I'm Torcha I hold my own like I'm masterbating
Not masquerading like puppets and writers for nother
Got married last summer
But I'm still f**ing a stunner
Crews only step up if they drunk lots of liquor
Now thats dumb enough then ask your dealers for an odds on ticker
I used to pill pop til' my life fell off the hilltop
But still rock, ya feel it (ahhh!) - my mic is still hot
Better hope you still drop
In this profession we medicine
Got everyone stressing, reaching for anti-depressing medicine
Some editors veterans testing us at a show
I'll put you in the nosebleed section while your in the back row